Young Whitney was a singer,
And her voice was surely blessed by God
And never one to dawdle,
As a part-time model,
She made money with her runway bod
And young Whitney had a momma
Who sang the Gospel all around the world;
And as a daughter of Cissy,
Whitney acted sweet and prissy --
Just a pretty little shy young girl... (but)

When she sang -- Dang! What a sound!
Girl had pipes that could knock you down!
Legendary status-bound,
Heir to 'Retha Franklin's crown!

Whitney's debut got her noticed,
And she began to socialize around
With all the rich, and the famous,
And the sleazy and the heinous --
And a singer name of Bobby Brown;
Now this Bobby's gifts were modest:
You see, the biggest thing he ever did
Was make a minor splash
And a little bit of cash
With a tune called 'My Prerogative'

A 'New Jack Hack', Bobby Brown --
Old-style hack with a 'New Jack' sound;
Positively downward-bound,
Useless as a junkyard hound...

No explainin' her attraction --
The boy was ugly and the boy was crude;
And he was certainly no charmer,
He would dis' his baby's momma
If he felt like he was in the mood;
He and Whitney, they got married,
And while she still was on the upward rise
She started lookin' kinda haggard,
And for concerts, she would stagger in
With limp and droopy bloodshot eyes... (why?)

It was crack, jack! Ground her down;
Soon the word would be all 'round town:
"Whitney Houston's rehab-bound --
Prob'ly due to Bobby Brown..."

Now Bobby was a punk kid,
But he liked to throw his weight around;
Afraid to fight with a man,
Ol' Bobby had to put his hands
On a woman only ninety pounds;
He abused her, and he used her,
Because he liked to keep his ugly face
On the music-makin' scene
And in the weekly magazines --
He was a weakly, little, sad disgrace...

Insecure boor, Bobby Brown --
Did no good, but he did the town;
Draggin' little Whitney down,
How he loved to smack her 'round...

The TV show 'Behind the Music'
Will never have to do an expose --
'Cause all the drugs, and the beatin's,
And the rehab treatments,
We all know about 'em anyway;
I gave up long ago on Whitney,
And now her music doesn't mean a thing;
But for her own damn sake,
She could correct a big mistake
With a song I'd love to hear her sing:

"Take your junk, punk! Just leave town...
Whitney doesn't need you around;
Go and drag your own self down
'Til you're six feet underground"

"Take your junk, punk! Just leave town...
Whitney doesn't need you around;
Go and drag your own self down
'Til you're six feet underground"

Go and drag your own self down
'Til you're six feet underground!